


You Wear Your Religion (Like a War Sweater)

by liamscurlock



Series: Don't You Ever Tame Your Demons [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Hermione is too good for this world, M/M, Re-Sorting, Time Travel AU, all of your favorite characters but better, draco and harry and just kids leave them alone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 03:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamscurlock/pseuds/liamscurlock
Summary: Dumbledore, that daft old man, warned him of this... shaky fear he would have. In fact, as he lay awake, his mind 17, in his eleven-year-old body, in his childhood bedroom, in a Manor not yet destroyed, he was afraid and he was definitely shaking and he was not ready for what he was going to have to do.Time-Travel/Gryffindor!Draco AU, a bit of a retelling of 30% of J.K.'s original books, with some extra pizzazz the dear Draco would definitely add in. Not complete. Re-upload of the story which was posted on my first account.





	1. We Don't Drink Until the Devil's Turned to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> title of works comes from Hozier's "Arsonist's Lullaby", title of work comes from Waley!Wakey!'s "War Sweater", title of chapter from James Vinvent McMorrow's "We Don't Eat". No copyright infringement intended, I don't own any of the songs, nor do I own Harry Potter. Pls don't sue me.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” the black-haired boy mused. He was sat on a rickety chair, staring out of one of the only intact windows in all of the destroyed castle, watching as the sun rose above the horizon with the sky barely as red as the blood covered courtyard below.

Another boy, blonde and pale, was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. “How else would it have ended?” He asked, his voice lacked the usual loftiness it usually held, and was instead soft, if cautious.

The boy in the chair said nothing for a moment, and did not turn to see who the newcomer was, as that particular blond boy was the only one he had even barely expected this morning.

The dark-haired boy rubbed his dirt and and dried blood stained hands through his hair, exhaling, “I’m not sure really. I just have a feeling that, in perhaps another world, less people would have died.”

“Well Harry, less people will continue dying now, thanks to you,” the pale boy observed. “Is that not enough?”

Potter, still squinting through dirty and cracked glasses at the horizon, tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think “enough” is the proper word for it, Draco. I didn’t want anyone at all to die for me.”

It was quiet for a minute, until Draco pulled a stool noisily beside Harry and stared at him. “Not everyone who has died since the Dar-” Draco stammered, “since Voldemort came to power has died all because of you. Especially not before you. Hundreds of people died because of him long before you were born.” A pause. “You’ve got quite the guilt, for a hero.”

Harry scoffed, “You have quite the opinion, for someone who isn’t really sure what side he’s on.”

There was a small glimmer of a grin on Draco’s face at that, just for a second, and then it was replaced by the careful stoic mask he’d always kept. “Whichever side my family’s on, that’s my side. And right now, I’m sure what side that is. No one will trust my father, you seem to have a soft spot for my mother, and everyone refuses to look at me because they locked me in the dungeons and still i helped save some of their sorry arses.” That small grin had glanced his face again. “I don’t care, really, I just don’t want to go to Azkaban.”

A snort came from Harry, his eyes rolling. “I don’t think you will. And anyways, if I did think you were, would I be talking to you right now?”

Draco shook his head, quiet again. He then glanced at the courtyard below, and stood from his wary perch on the stool. “If I don’t end up in a cell, like you believe, maybe I can fix things.”

Harry looked at him, confused. “Fix things? What will you do, go back in time?”

The blond made a noncommittal gesture with his hands. “Perhaps, for now, I’m off to speak with a man in a portrait.”

“If you see anyone, don’t mention me up here. I’d rather no one else find me.” The dark-haired boy responded.

“Secret’s safe with me, Potter.” Draco replied.

Harry looked over his shoulder as Draco walked out of the room, “Thanks, Malfoy.”

 

qpqpqpqp

 

Draco found himself at the end of the corridor to the Headmaster’s office.

“Defodio,” he muttered, pointing his wand at some of the larger rubble blocking his movement, blasting the chunks of rock out of his way.

At the entrance to the office was a battered looking gargoyle, which jumped out of his way when he stopped in front of it.

He carefully ascended the spiral steps. The double oak doors were closed, but not locked, and inside was a disturbingly calm, barren office. The paintings of former Headmasters and Headmistresses hung on the walls were all vacant, except one.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore peered over half-moon glasses at him, his eyes twinkling. He smiled at Draco, and beckoned him forward.

As he came to a stop in front of the large portrait, it spoke. “Hello Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco inclined his head to the Professor, “I need to ask you something, Headmaster.”

Albus chuckled lightly, “Of course. Anything at all.”

The boy paused, “What would you say if I told you I wanted to travel back in time and fix everything that went wrong?”

Draco was expecting confusion, or anger, or really anything but the gentle laughter the old man released at his question.

Albus stopped laughing after a moment, and smiled down again at Draco, “Oh, young Draco Malfoy, why do you believe me the person to ask of this?”

A wrinkle appeared between Draco’s eyebrows, “Are you not the person I should be asking?”  
“No, my boy, I think you should be asking yourself if you should do it.” Albus paused, pondering. “Although, I suppose if you will it enough, anything can come of a simple question.”

Draco Malfoy was a man of many talents, but he did not expect that he could somehow just will himself to travel back in time,

It dawned on him then, the real question he needed to ask. “How do I go back in time to fix it all?”

Dumbledore bowed his head, “And that, dear boy, is just the question we have to ask, isn’t it.”

qpqpqpqp

 

For the next several weeks, Draco Malfoy spent most of his time in the Headmaster’s presence. He acquired an office just down the hall, with a connected bedroom, bathroom, and kitchenette.

The majority of the castle was occupied with being rebuilt by the survivors. The house elves, or what was left of them, were steadfast in the kitchens, preparing food for the castle’s occupants, almost as if nothing had changed. Dobby caught Draco sitting alone in a corridor eating his dinner the first night he stayed, and insisted bringing meals to him in his office.

The bedroom was drab, and fresh linen appeared in the closet soon after Dobby explored the room. Draco spread as many books, papers, and notes on the desk as he could. He spent half of the day working on his research, and the other half debating with Dumbledore about what he’d learned.

On the fifteenth day of research, he had an epiphany.

“Alright old man, what if I can amass power great enough to expel my 17 year-old soul seven years into the past and somehow managed to get it to combine with my 11 year-old body and mind while retaining my memories?” Draco sat atop the Headmaster’s desk, leafing through countless pages of his notes and theories.

Albus mused, “And how, pray tell, do you plan to create a catalyst that powerful?”

Draco grimaced and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “What’s the most powerful spell you can think of?”

“The Killing Curse. Though, I’m not sure how killing something would send you-” Albus paused abruptly. “You can’t possibly believe killing yourself will send back in time.”

“No no, of course not. Well, I’ll work on it. It’s something like that, I just don’t quite understand how I should go about it.” Draco looked around at his notes absentmindedly. “Will you ask some of the other Headmasters what they know about portals, vortexes, or anything that will act as a sort of prism. Stuff like that, I think, will help me try what I think I can do.”

Albus simply looked at him for a moment, his bright eyes concerned. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy. For now, get some rest.”

Draco gathered his things quietly, and before he reached the door, he turned to look at the Professor again. “Sir? Do you really think I can fix things?”

The man smiled, “Why, Draco Malfoy, I always thought you were destined for great things. And this? This is perhaps the greatest and bravest thing you could do. In your endeavors, you will succeed. I can only hope for that.”


	2. Now We're Caught Against the Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title comes from James Bay's "Hold Back the River." I don't own anything please don't sue me.

Potter found him in the same room they’d been in the eve of the battle, just a month after the fact. Draco was rustling around in a decrepit cabinet, his head buried in paperwork and books when Harry walked in. None the wiser, Draco continued riffling and sorting as Harry made his way to the window.

“You’ve been busy,” Harry stated.

Draco startled, nearly dropping his armful of dusty books and parchment. Harry smirked at his disarray. There was silence, as there always was between them, before Draco cleared his throat of the dust that had lodged there.

“I’ve been busy, yes.” The blond muttered, looking for a place to set his findings. There was a dirty table that he deemed suitable. He dropped his armful there and then placed himself in the chair adjacent to Harry.

Harry pushed his now fixed glasses up his nose, “They’ve started calling you a hero. Colin Creevey might make a fan club one day.”

There was a great harrumph of a sigh from Draco, and then, “Well, it’s better than being called ‘Death Eater in Training.’ Maybe being a hero won’t be so bad. You turned out alright, didn’t you.”

“I had people there to assure me I wasn’t as impressive as everyone else thought I was. Kept my head level, I assure you.” Harry grinned, “And if you’re the only company I’ll have that won’t ask me how I am or try to force feed me, I’ll continue assuring you that you aren’t as impressive as everyone else thinks.”

There was a moment when both boys just laughed. Draco spoke up first, “It’s odd, us speaking civilly.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Harry speculated. “I think there was always a chance of us growing and realizing it was odd how aggressive we once were.”

The blonde bit his lip, “If I tell you something, Potter, would you mind not mentioning it to anyone else?”

The dark-haired boy took a second before nodding.

Draco breathed out slowly, curling his fingers around his wand. He finally quietly said, “I’m going to go back in time.”

Harry stared at him, his eyebrows knitted together. “You’re going to… go back in time? What’ll that do you, Time Turners only go back maybe five hours.”

“It’s complicated, Potter, and I’m not really using a time turner. It’s a big mess of Time sand and a vortex and I maybe have to kill myself.” He rushed the last bit, bordering on rambling. “Dumbledore and I, that’s what we’ve been doing for a month. Planning and researching and, god, I had to tell someone because talking only to a house elf and a dead professor is making me stir crazy as it is. Look, you don’t have to believe me, but I thought you ought to know I’m going to do it. So you don’t get to do it too.”

“That’s awfully Gryffindor of you, don’t you think,” was Harry’s only reply. He stood then, and walked to the door.

“Look, Malfoy, I won’t stop you. I’m not going to encourage it either, just, don’t let me die in this new timeline of yours, if you do go.” He was halfway out of the door when he said, “Good luck.”

Draco grimaced as the door banged shut. He told Potter, as part of Dumbledore’s deal, and now it was time to set up the vortex, pour the sand, and, well, kill himself.

qpqpqpqp

 

“Are you ready for this?” Albus Dumbledore asked as Draco began his careful process.

He watched the boy as he made his way through the series of steps he’d theorized and practiced over for weeks. It was now nearing midnight of June 4th, and Draco hadn’t slept in three days.

There was a cautious feeling in the air, and Albus pondered to himself if Draco felt it.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to be more prepared, any day after this.” Draco mused quietly, pausing in his measurement of the circle around him. “Another year, more time, perhaps I could do more calibrations, but I don’t honestly think I could be more prepared.”

Albus nodded then, still watching the boy. He had dark circles rubbed under his eyes, and those very eyes, the ones he remembered once being light and trusting, were now dark gray. His outer robes were covered in sand, dust, and remnants of blood that once stained them. Draco’s wand remained in a holster strapped over his left arm, hiding the faded Dark Mark behind it.

The Professor watched quietly as Draco spun slowly around the room, twisting his wand out of its sheath and twirling it ever so, adjusting his calibrations as he went. It was ten minutes to 12, and he was running out of time.

Finally, Draco stopped moving. He stood at the edge of an intricate circle of prisms, with a Celtic Knot of Time Sand weaving through and around various powerful objects from the Professor’s own collection. There was a stillness to the air that rang with magical currents, the castle’s old magic impossibly quiet, as if watching to see it happen.  
“No one has ever done this before, my boy.” Albus said quietly.

Draco looked up at the old man, “No one’s ever had the gall to kill themselves so they can save more people in a different life, either.”

Albus nodded to that, his glasses in his hands. “I wish this wasn’t the way it had to be.”

“I told my mother and father goodbye, in a letter at least. If my owl reaches them by morning, they’ll know I won’t return.”

“Did you tell them much of your plans?”

“No,” Draco sighed, “However, my mother will at least understand, she realizes how sacrifices work. My father will be difficult, but she’s used to that.”

Draco glanced again at Dumbledore. He shook his dirty robes off, and banished them with a wave of his wand and a mutter of, “Depulso.”

He straightened the old Slytherin tie that hung from his collar, tucked his pants into his boots, and dusted off the shoulders of his yellowing button-up. Closing his eyes, he slipped his wand again out of the holster on his arm. He breathed once, and stepped into his contraption.

“Professor?” Draco asked, “Thank you, for helping me.”

Albus smiled, and placed his glasses back on his nose. “It was my pleasure. Be safe Draco Malfoy, and good luck.”

The exhausted boy bowed his head. He reached down and turned the front prism into position. The moonlight from the windows lit the prisms, and the sand swirled around him.

With one final breath, Draco Lucius Malfoy pointed his wand at his heart and said, “Avada Kedavra.” And he knew no more.


	3. Used to Call You a Crook, Called You a Bandit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title comes from Modern Baseball's "Your Graduation."

On Wednesday, the Fifth of June, 1991, Draco Lucius Malfoy awoke at exactly 12:01 am with a start.

It was dark in his room, in his childhood bedroom that he hadn’t seen in months, it was dark and exactly warm enough and he was home. Draco sat up, too small he was in his now too large bed, and raked his clean hands through clean short hair and sighed.

“I’ve done it.” He whispered, his voice just as small as he was, higher pitched than it had been since puberty.

The room was just as he had remembered it; dark grey curtains adorning the window, pulled back so that the barest traces of moonlight filtered through the tall windows, the bathroom across from his bed had an enchanted candle glowing in it, and the light shown through the open doorway onto the silver bedspread and dark oak bed he lay on.

Draco continued looking around, awash with memories. Then, he paused. He realized why he was here, in this bed, with memories that did not belong to a barely 11-year-old. He knew what he was here for, of course he did, but why ever should that make him prepared for it.

Of course, Dumbledore, that daft old man, warned him of this... shaky fear he would have. In fact, as he lay awake, his mind 17, in his eleven-year-old body, in his childhood bedroom, in a Manor not yet destroyed, he was afraid and he was definitely shaking and he was not ready for what he was going to have to do.

It wasn’t as if he had just appeared in his body, no, that would have been too simple. For that one minute past midnight, there was a limbo of pain and confusion. For a moment, when real 11 year-old Draco and 17 year-old Draco’s memories were a tumbling mess of confusion, for a moment it didn’t feel as if he had done the right thing. Then, he was awake in his bed, ruffled and afraid, but a perfect combination of Old Draco and New Draco.

Without realizing it, it was dawn, and a house elf was tapping his shoulder softly.

“Master Draco, Master Draco,” the house elf squeaked, “It is Master Draco’s birthday it is, and Mistress Narcissa has sent Ladry to fetch you, she did. You’s is to get dressed and come to breakfast, yes.”

Draco blinked sleepily at the elf, confused for a moment, and then caught himself. “Of course, Ladry, I’ll be right down.”

Ladry nodded hard with a large grin on his face and then disappeared with a pop.

It was quiet in the room again, and that stillness that had surrounded him in the old timeline was back again. Draco yawned and drew himself out of bed. There were clothes for him, at the edge of his bed. He picked them up and was delighted that they weren’t the starched ones he was expected to wear when in public.

“A day at home, perhaps,” he muttered quietly. “I do remember staying home, which is… refreshing.”

He dressed and attempted to fix the rumpled mess of his hair in the mirror. He didn’t slick it back as he did in Hogwarts, but he did brush it if only to avoid his father’s disapproval.

Finding his way down the marble staircase, he came to a halt at the entrance to the dining room, which was awash in soft candlelight from the chandelier.

His mother was standing near the fireplace, her back to him. His father was sitting at the far head of the table, with Narcissa’s hand on his shoulder.

As he stepped into the room, Lucius drawled, “Good morning Draco.”

Draco smiled softly, “Good morning Father, Mother.” He pulled out the ornate chair to his father’s left.

Narcissa turned and walked to him then, her hands resting on his shoulders. She smiled gently at him, “Oh good morning Draco dear, and happy birthday.”

Draco startled slightly. It was his birthday.

Lucius raised his eyebrows, “Of course, happy birthday, son. Your letter should be here soon enough, I suppose.”

“I hope it does hurry. I’m very excited.” Draco said.

His parents looked to each other for a moment. Narcissa smoothed down Draco’s hair and said, “It’s not every day a wizard turns eleven, and that is a very special birthday indeed.”

As Narcissa took the seat to the right of Lucius, breakfast appeared on the table before them.

It was his birthday, and, circumstances aside, all felt well.


End file.
